


Bruised Heart, Sing

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [223]
Category: DCU
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kink Discovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “No,” Clark says, his voice post-sex smokey, “that’s what I love about you: you’re such a dad.”





	Bruised Heart, Sing

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: someone on the Twitter box raised the idea of a subby daddy and my brain has been tangled in that problem ever since.

“No,” Clark says, his voice post-sex smokey, “that’s what I love about you: you’re such a dad.”

Bruce groans and pushes up, up and out of his bed. Throws his feet on the cold wooden floor. “Ugh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Of course you are.” He pads over to the console table by the window and picks up his glass. “Why else would you say something so goddamn bizarre?”

When he turns, Clark is pitched on his side and watching Bruce brazenly, his eyes, the lines of his face, made sharp and bright by the firelight. “Are you saying you’re not?”

“Not a dad? Yes, Clark. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

A grin. “You wanna hear my argument?”

“I’m guessing I don’t have a choice.”

“Nope,” Clark says again as Bruce drains the last of the scotch. “You do not.”

He sets the glass aside and stretches, feels the pleasant strain of the evening echo in his shoulders, his back. “Mmmm, fine. Okay. Wow me with your powers of persuasion, Kent.”

“Be a lot easier to do if you were over here.”

“God, mouthy and demanding. Why do I put up with you again?”

Clark laughs, the low, happy one he saves for moments like this, when the curtains are drawn and the door’s double locked and it’s just the two of them. “See my previous statement.”

“Fine,” Bruce says, biting back his own smile. “Fucking fine. Brat.”

He walks the few feet back to the bed and feels the weight of Clark’s eyes, the heat of them, the way that watching him makes Clark’s hips shift under the covers, makes him give up the smallest hot sound, the same one he made against Bruce's back not twenty minutes ago right before he came. Shit. Bruce’s sleepy cock gives a misguided twitch.

Clark notices. Clark always notices. Damn him.

He’s beaming when he throws the sheets back, beaming when Bruce rolls back in, beaming when he snakes up to Bruce’s side and throws a heavy leg over his. Nuzzles his cheek and gets out: “Hi, dad.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t call me that.”

“Tsk. I didn’t say you were _my_ dad. I’m saying you're _a_ dad. Big difference.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s pretty simple, really. You take care of everybody. That’s your primary instinct, to make sure that people are safe.”

Bruce grunts, ignores the way the words pool in his belly. “Everybody does that.”

“No, they don’t.” Clark leans up a little, props his head on the heel of his hand. “I mean, aside from the kids you’ve adopted--”

“They’re not kids anymore.”

“You know what I mean. And Damian is.”

“Damian is thirteen pushing a hundred and twelve. He thinks he’s older than me.”

Clark chuckles. “He thinks he’s smarter than you.”

“Same difference.”

“I mean, the boys are part of it, though. An illustration. You’re a caretaker by nature, Bruce, a protector. It’s something that was in you way before you put on that cape.” Clark’s fingers find his chest, curl into the dark hair there, the gray. “And I see it everyday--with the boys, with the league, with your city. You live to keep the people you love safe.”

Bruce reaches for him, strokes his palm down one heated cheek. “Hmmm. One flaw in your analysis, though.”

“Only one?”

“I love you,” Bruce says, the scotch does, “and god knows I don’t burn a lot of fuel keeping you safe. You don’t need me to protect you.”

Clark’s eyes go soft, softer still, and his nails find the swell of Bruce’s heart. “No, I don’t,” he says. “But that’ll never stop you from trying. And that’s what makes you a dad.”

Bruce grins, presses his thumb into that dimple. “You know that word has a very different meaning in this context, right?”

“What context is that?”

“You, me, naked. In bed.”

“Hmmm,” Clark says. His mouth twitches. “You mean, if I were to call you _dad_?”

“I think the vernacular's generally  _daddy_ , but yeah, same idea.”

A snort. “I’ve seen porn before, Bruce. I’m aware.” Then an eyebrow. “Would you like me to call you that?”

“What?”

“Would you like me to call you daddy?”

Bruce’s face goes hot. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“Because,” Clark says sneaky, “your heart rate goes through the roof every time I say it.”

“Yeah, because I’m embarrassed for you. You sound fucking ridiculous.”

Clark leans into his face and rubs their mouths together. “Mmmm, do I, daddy?”

Bruce’s cock jumps and his whole body burns. “Stop it.”

“Why?” A long, hungry kiss, a fist that slips to his dick. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Clark--”

A smirk, a nip at his lip. “Yeah, you do. You’re hard for me already.”

Bruce can’t breathe. He can’t think. It feels like they’re on the edge of something, something different, and if they go over, if he lets Clark talk to him like this, if he _likes_ it, then--

“Then what?” Clark murmurs. “Who’s gonna know, hmmm? You worry too much. What we do here is for you and for me. That’s it. Nobody else is gonna know.”

He’s spread his legs--when the fuck did that happen?--and he’s arching up into Clark’s touch, good and eager. His balls are tight and he’s so soft inside still, so fucking wet.

“You’re right,” he gets out. “Nobody will know. ‘Cause you won’t tell them, will you, baby?”

Clark groans, groans and moves his hand faster, squeezes just right at the head. “No. No, daddy. I promise.”

Then they’re kissing and it’s dirty, sloppy, like neither of them cares about getting it right; it’s just that it feels good, their mouths on each other, snarling, their teeth.

“Wanna fuck you,” Clark says, each word a steel feather. “Want to feel you squeeze my cock when I make you come, daddy.”

“Please,” Bruce breathes. “God, Clark. Fuck, yes.”

Clark covers him and Clark smothers him and Clark pushes inside him, steady and deep.

“You’re so hard,” Clark murmurs, digging his fingers into the pillow and leaning down, down. “Will you play with it for me? Makes me so hot when you touch yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” A hard kiss. “I like watching you. You’re beautiful, daddy.”

He sweeps a hand through Clark’s hair and holds on, like it’s the last of his sanity. It doesn't help. He can't hold the words back. “Do you think about daddy when you play with yourself? When daddy’s not there for you to fuck?”

A moan claws out of Clark’s throat. "Yes."

“And what do you think about, hmm?” He scratches at the back of Clark’s neck. “Tell me.”

“About this,” Clark says in a rush. “About my cock in your ass, about how good it feels when I fill you up. How big I am. How tight you are when we fuck.”

“Yeah? You like that?”

The bed is straining now, each board creaking, the four posters shaking like there’s a damn breeze.

“Love that,” Clark pants. He sounds as bad as the bed, just as close to falling apart. “Love you. Oh, Bruce, fuck. I love you so much.”

Bruce’s head falls back and he feels like a rubber band pushed the edge of its limits, stretched and tense and full of power, ready to fucking snap. “Baby.” He lifts his hips, leans into the bounce of Clark’s body, speeds up the fly of his fist. “Baby, yes. _Yes_. Just like that.”

Clark’s tongue finds his lips, traces them, a soft counterpoint to the rough shove of his cock. “Be good,” he whispers. “Be good for me, daddy.”

“I am, I am--!”

A sharp thrust, a sudden, throat-closing stillness. “No,” Clark hisses. “Be good right now, daddy, and come for me.”

He roars and he quakes and then his spunk's everywhere, splattered--on Clark’s stomach, on his--and the sound that Clark makes is a benediction, a curse, a perfect, fevered prayer that makes the windows shake, the fire tremble. It makes Bruce’s old, bruised heart sing.

“That’s right,” he mumbles as Clark pour himself out, overflows him, makes a beautiful mess of Bruce’s body, his bed. “Let me have it, baby. All of you. Every drop.”

Later, when the dawn is coming and his bed is empty, when Clark’s kissed him and mumbled sweet shit against his neck and hugged him again, fierce and tight, he’ll say _be careful_ to the strongest creature on Earth and said creature, the love of his strange, shadowed life, will turn from the window, from the call of the sky, and hold Bruce’s face in his hands, fingers that can pulverize steel, and say with utter sincerity _you too, daddy_ and all will, for that brief, perfect moment, be right with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely feel as if I should apologize for this one. Ah well.


End file.
